


Ally

by getoffmyhead



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Blood Drinking, Feelings, M/M, Miscommunication, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 14:51:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17510702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/getoffmyhead/pseuds/getoffmyhead
Summary: Phil hadn't known a lot of vampires in his time, but he was pretty sure they didn't all project their strongest emotions like they were throwing rice at a wedding. That much seemed unique to Sid, who showed up at optional skate with an oppressive cloud of turmoil and anger hanging over him, and no Geno in sight to calm him down.





	Ally

**Author's Note:**

> I watched a really terrible vampire movie last night. It reminded me that I wrote this a while back, probably sometime around Halloween if I had to guess. I never really intended to put it anywhere, but cleaning it up helped wash the bad taste of that movie out of my mouth.

“Captain’s pissed,” Jake said with amusement tugging at his tone that said he didn’t think it was anything major. Phil had just reached the coffee pot. He had only been in the building for three minutes. He wasn’t prepared for the bullshit yet. 

“Why?” Phil asked, reaching for a black, recyclable cup with the Penguins’ logo proudly emblazoned on the front. 

Jake shrugged. “No idea. Just heads up.”

“Thanks,” Phil muttered. 

As Jake turned away, he was already in the process of forgetting the conversation in favor of adding cream and sugar to the tar-black dark roast Dana brewed every morning. It was fair-trade organic something or other, sourced ethically and roasted locally. Dana had told him about it one day when he joined the team, back when Phil was one of the first people to show up to practice in his ‘making a good first impression’ days. Phil had nodded along and been impressed with the attention to detail, but he’d never been able to tell much difference between Dana’s perfect brew and Folgers. He’d never say that, though. 

He carried his cup to the dressing room. As soon as he was through the doors, he felt it. Sid was _pissed_. 

Phil could never figure out why Sid’s emotions projected like they did. Phil could read most people, but he didn’t have to with Sid. Nobody did. Sid’s feelings were like the scrolling banner on ESPN, constantly giving blatant updates on his mood. 

When he first joined the team, Phil chalked it up to mysticism, a fact of vampire biology or something. But Pat Kane had laughed at him when Phil hesitantly asked whether Crawford did the same thing. 

“Nah, man. Crow’s a brick wall. All of ‘em are. There’s no telling what he’s thinking.”

He hadn’t pressed, not wanting to inadvertently give any of Sid’s personal information away, but he’d wondered. Every time he walked into a dressing room, felt the crackle of excited energy, and known that they would have a great game because Sid felt good, every time he’d been punched in the gut by a knot of nervousness when he got through the doors because they were so deep in the playoffs and Sid couldn’t stand the thought of losing now, he wondered. 

He wondered again, feeling the dark, smoky twist of anger and frustration in the air. He glanced at Sid over the rim of his cup as he took a sip. He didn’t look furious. He was re-lacing one of his skates, undoubtedly because some careless newbie in the equipment staff didn’t ask him which side should cross on top and got it wrong, thinking he would never notice. His fingers worked with quick efficiency, not with sharp, angry motions. Outwardly, he was just... busy. Maybe his brow looked a little creased with frustration, but that could be chalked up to the lacing gaff. 

Then Sid’s eyes flicked up, dark and heavy, and Phil almost doubled over. The projected anger hit him like a god-sized fist. He had to tear his gaze away to stumble to his stall and sit. 

Thankfully, Geno was nowhere to be seen so he had a minute to gather himself. Geno would be all over him, teasing him and laughing and expecting him to talk when his tongue was tied in knots. He sat and sipped Dana’s coffee and breathed in deep. 

“Told you,” Jake said low, less amused than he had been in the equipment room.

Phil nodded and reached above him for a shin pad. He could still feel Sid’s irritation, heavy and oppressive, but compared to the brief avalanche of it when he looked in his eyes, it was nothing. He could move through it, get his pads on and get out to optional skate.

He concentrated so hard on his pads, he barely noticed when Geno never showed up. He realized it only when the whistle blew to start their optional skate and Geno’s loud presence hadn’t made an appearance on the ice. It was a terrible day for him to take the option. Usually, Geno could get Sid out of a funk pretty quickly with a few sly grins and an arm slung around his shoulders. 

Geno was the only one in the locker room who never seemed bothered by Sid’s emotions. Instead of shying away from his bad moods, Geno seemed drawn to them, crowding into Sid’s personal space to soak it in. Invariably, he would turn Sid away from whatever was bothering him and get him laughing again.

They ran a few warmups and passing routines before the coaches set them up for a continuous flow drill. Split in half, the team lined up at opposite corners to run through the drill. A lifetime of hockey practices had taught them not to stand behind a goal. Pucks came flying in from wristers hard enough to crack bones if they missed the net, so everyone crowded into the corners and stayed clear, where they would normally be safe.

Despite their caution, Sid nearly hit teammates with almost every shot, seemingly aiming well wide of the goal. The pucks slammed into the glass in sharp cracks of sound. Phil side-eyed him warily from three people ahead in line, but Sid again looked calm. He looked implacable, unfazed. 

“Hey Cap,” Phil tried, and those intense eyes pinned him down. “Maybe try aiming for the net, huh?”

Sid’s face relaxed into a smile, but it never touched his eyes and the feeling weighing on Phil’s chest didn’t fade. “I’ll give it a shot.”

After another run through, Sid’s next puck hit Big Rig in the shoulder and sent him yelping over to the bench. Thankfully, the coaches called it after that, sending the team off to rest up for the night’s game. 

Phil was ahead of Sid back to the locker room. He was the only witness to Sully snapping, “Sid, a word,” before they veered off together. 

Sid reappeared before Phil could get all the way out of his pads. Everyone was at their lockers. Sid slowly closed the doors and turned. He had his helmet in one hand, but otherwise stood fully dressed in Penguins’ practice gear, looking like he was ready for a promo shoot. He leaned back against the doors to keep anyone from entering or leaving and looked around at his teammates. 

“Which one of you told Geno I want to eat him?”

He said it in his presser voice, the bland, calm tone of earnest interest mixed with emotionless professionalism, but he didn’t need a tone for everyone to know how furious he was. The air left the room as they all froze. 

“I want to make a couple of things very clear. I don’t want to feed off any of you. And that’s not because I have to resist the temptation. I don’t want to eat my teammates any more than you want to eat a live chicken. Vampires aren’t mindless...” Sid scratched the back of his neck. “I’m not a monster. I kind of didn’t think I had to tell you guys that.”

Rusty squirmed like a worm on a hook for less than ten seconds before he broke. “Nobody thinks you’re a monster, Sid. I was just fucking with Geno. Because he was being a dick last week in-”

Sid’s anger narrowed on Rusty, and he stopped talking, choked with it. 

“What did you tell him?” Sid asked low and intense.

“Nothing. Just that... You look at him like he’s a steak dinner sometimes. I figured it was just... Ya know, hunger. Nothing personal. I was just messing with him. I didn’t think he’d do anything.”

Sid looked down. For a moment, instead of looking angry, he looked incredibly sad. “Human blood isn’t special,” he said almost mournfully. “Even if I was starving... Which I never am. You guys are safe.”

Sid pushed away from the door and strode across the locker room while Rusty looked like he wanted to tuck his tail between his legs and cower in guilt like a misbehaving but loyal dog. Phil offered a conciliatory grimace across the room and bent to get his skates off.

They had hours between the end of the optional skate and their report time for the game. Normally, Phil went out to lunch with teammates. Most of the time, he went with Geno, clinging to the passenger door of his Porsche while he prayed not to die. But, with Geno absent, he was on his own. 

Phil supposed the good person thing to do would be to invite Rusty and try to cheer him up. But there was a reason he didn’t have an A on his jersey and never had. He figured Rusty had made his bed, put his foot in his mouth, and now had to just deal with the consequences. He would live. Instead of being a good person, Phil picked up his phone and hit call as he walked out of the locker room. 

“What?” Geno asked when he answered. 

“I’m going to Companio’s. What do you want?”

Geno paused for a moment before he said, “Like, beef thing. You know.”

“The same thing you always get? Figured. See you in a few.”

He hung up before Geno could respond. 

Geno’s gate was open when he arrived, giving him access. He drove up to the house, parked, and let himself in the front door. 

“Delivery for a surly Russian,” he called into the house when he didn’t immediately see Geno. He set the bag on the kitchen table and pulled the sandwiches out. “Yo, Geno! You can’t make it to skate and now you can’t make it to the table? I can’t believe you call me lazy.”

The sound of feet shuffled in behind him and Geno plopped down at the table, sullen as a teenager. 

“Morning,” Phil chuckled when he saw Geno was still wearing flannel pajama pants and a sleep-rumpled shirt. 

Geno grunted and reached for his sandwich. 

“Guess I could have predicted this. The mood Sid was in.”

Geno’s eyes flicked up, reluctantly interested. “What’s he say?”

“Just... Rusty’s prank didn’t go over so hot. Thought Sid was going to set his ass on fire.”

Geno huffed like he would have agreed with it if he did. 

“So, what? You offered Sid a pregame snack?”

“It’s not funny,” Geno groaned, but Phil knew how to approach him. He wouldn’t do a real deep dive into his emotions. If Phil wanted to reach him, it would have to be through chirping. 

“You thought about, like, eating some pineapple? Maybe you just taste bad. Like cabbage. And beets.”

Geno’s mouth twitched. He didn’t look entirely angry. “He don’t bite me,” he said, gesturing to his unmarked neck. “He make face like... Ew. Gross. Don’t want that.”

“I mean... In fairness, Sid makes that face at strawberry ice cream, and strawberry ice cream is awesome.”

Geno looked a little mollified. 

“So Sid’s a picky bastard. What else is new? You’ll find another vampire to get you off. Probably wasn’t a great idea to do sex stuff with a teammate anyways, right?”

Geno’s gaze got farther away at that before he shrugged. “Sure. Probably not.”

Phil watched him listlessly unwrap his sandwich and suddenly felt a wave of unease, an unquiet feeling that this might not be an easy fix. Maybe this was about more than just not getting laid. He tried his best to buoy Geno throughout lunch, but it never seemed to fully get him out of his funk.

The game that night was horrible. 

Phil went home after lunch to take a nap, then drove to the arena. By the time he got there, a mere three hours since the last time he saw Geno, whatever effect his cheering efforts caused had worn off. Geno was in a terrible mood. He could tell it as soon as he entered the locker room to change out of his suit. Geno sat at his stall with his eyes on his phone, scowling.

They didn’t get a chance to talk before the team strategy meeting, and Geno ducked out afterwards. He made himself scarce for the remainder of pregame, flitting in and out of the edge of Phil’s vision like a ghost. 

Phil went through his routine like normal. He had a snack. He did some stretching. He warmed up. He taped his stick. He played a little wall ball. And finally, with thirty minutes to on-ice warmups, he strolled his way back toward the locker room. 

He rounded a corner on his way back to the room and nearly ran smack into Sid and Geno. They were squared off in the hall looking uncomfortable with each other. Sid had his arms crossed and his eyes down. Geno’s jaw was set mulishly. It didn’t look like they were accomplishing much. 

“Hey guys. Ready for this?”

Sid looked up. Deep unease settled on Phil like a cold, wet blanket, but Sid tried to smile. “Sure thing.”

“It’s Chicago,” Geno sneered. “Who cares?”

Geno took the opportunity to escape, leaving Sid standing there, cringing. 

“He cares,” Sid assured, possibly talking more to himself than Phil. 

“Course he does. We just gotta get out there and let him loose, play our game. We’ll be fine.”

They were not fine. 

The game was a disaster. Geno spent it chasing the play, lagging half a step behind. On the bench, he nodded at the offers and suggestions from coaches, but his play didn’t improve. If anything, it got worse. It was so bad by the third, when they were losing by three, that Phil got pulled off Geno’s line. He tried not to feel a little relieved.

They lost badly. Geno didn’t even seem to care. He just got off the ice and slumped in his stall like his strings were cut until Sully barked at him to go for a private talk. Phil didn’t miss the way Sid’s eyes followed him when he left, echoing the sympathetic and worried feelings raining down on everyone in the locker room. 

Phil rushed his post-game and went home, anxious to get out from under Sid’s emotions and away from Geno’s shuttered expressions. 

********************** 

Phil may not have had an A on his jersey, but he couldn’t just sit by while Geno sulked for the next month. He invited him out to lunch after practices, only to be turned down with a shrug and a mumbled excuse. He sat across from him on the plane, watched him listlessly play his hands while he got further and further behind in their continuous card game. Worst of all, he watched Geno play hockey like he didn’t care. He played behind the action, barely touching the puck. He didn’t score once.

The whole time, Phil kept thinking Sid would do something. He would jump in, get Geno back on track. But Sid did nothing. He didn’t approach Geno at all, for anything. He just stayed away. 

Something had to be done. The team was losing morale, and their biggest boost was dead in the water. He had to be fixed.

So, when they got to Montreal, Phil did some Googling. He diligently researched and read through FAQs and generally made sure they would be safe. Then he waited until they’d won against the Canadiens and approached Geno. 

“We’re not going out with the team.”

Geno looked at him with an appropriate amount of incredulity, considering Phil had never ordered him to skip going out before. “Why?”

“We’re going somewhere else.”

“Why again?”

“Trust me.”

It was the first time he’d ever said it, and he wasn’t actually sure whether it would work. He waited a beat before Geno shrugged and nodded. “Okay, let me get dress. Suit?”

“Lose the jacket and tie.”

“Okay.”

Phil was at one of the sinks poking at his hair to make it do something other than curl mercilessly when a tingle of curiosity tickled at his mind and a voice from the doorway said. “Where are you guys going?”

Phil glanced back and saw Sid leaned against the doorframe. “Hey Captain, what’s shaking?”

“Geno said you’re taking him somewhere. Somewhere secret.”

“Yeah. It’s a surprise.”

Sid kept looking expectantly at him.

“A surprise that is none of your business. Go away. Tell him nice try.”

“I won’t tell him. But you do actually need to tell someone. You two can’t just disappear places on a roadie. It’s for safety.”

“Uh huh,” Phil said, turning back to his hair. “I’ll tell someone.”

“Why not me?”

“You’ll freak out. Besides, he’ll be embarrassed. I’ll tell someone not so lame.”

A wave of irritation swelled in the room like the rising tide eating away at a beach. “I’m not going to freak out. Trust me, if you’re doing something crazy, you’d rather me know than Sully.”

“Oh, man, I’m so not telling Sully. But I’ll tell someone. I promise. And I’ll make sure he’s home by curfew, Dad. He’ll be fine.”

“I’m worried about both of you.”

“Sure you are,” Phil teased. He gave up on beautifying and stepped back from the sink. Sid was watching him suspiciously.

“You speak some French, right?”

“I have a tiny little computer in my pocket that contains every language known to man. Geno has one, too. We’ll be totally fine, Sid. Good night.”

He left Sid frowning away in the bathroom and chuckled out to find Geno with his tight pants and his white button down with the top three buttons undone. Phil was 100 percent human and hetero, but even he had to admit Geno looked kind of good. “Perfect. They’re going to love you.”

“Who?”

“You’ll see. Come on.”

He led Geno at a brutal pace out of the arena to outrun any renewed notion Sid might have about stopping them. Once they were in an Uber, he texted their destination to Rusty as promised. 

They pulled up outside the dark club, and Geno looked suspiciously at it. “Is club.”

“Yep.”

Geno kept looking doubtful, but he followed Phil out of the car and into the building. Inside, they found a young-looking blond guy checking IDs. The bouncer took a good, long look at Geno, chasing his exposed skin down the plunging line of his button-down. His fangs poked at the corners of his mouth. 

Phil looked over with wide eyes, fighting a lewd grin, and was appalled to find that Geno didn’t seem to even notice. 

“Hey, that guy was hot,” Phil scolded him when they were inside the doors.

“Who, what guy?”

“The vampire. The bouncer.”

“He’s vampire?”

“Yeah, man. It’s a vampire club.”

Geno looked around doubtfully. “Just look normal.”

“I think that’s the point,” Phil said. 

Geno shrugged and they made their way to the bar, where Geno ordered a light beer and immediately got into his phone like he didn’t care. Phil leaned on the bar and looked out at the dancefloor. 

There were enough people to fill the floor, but not too many. He saw a couple of gothy young people, obviously human, but mostly everyone just looked normal. The music was the standard club mix of rap and pop and house, all controlled by a gorgeous woman DJ sitting above the dance floor. She had long, red hair and sleeves of tattoos, and she bobbed with the beat like she wasn’t playing the music for anyone but herself.

Phil glanced at Geno. He was still scrolling Instagram, so he turned back to the floor and tried to figure out which of the club-goers were vampires. It was harder than he thought. He had a couple of suspicions, but nothing solid. 

Well, except the couple in the corner. He could pretty well guess what was going on when one girl brushed the other’s hair off her neck and bent in toward it. He turned to Geno with raised eyebrows, hoping he might have noticed.

Geno had moved on to texting someone, elbows on the bar while he leaned over his phone, looking completely disinterested.

“Dude, I can’t believe you’re not into this. After weeks of moping over one vampire, here’s dozens.”

“I’m not moping,” Geno insisted. “And I don’t like vampire.”

“Well, that’s a shame.”

Phil jumped at Sid’s unexpected voice by his elbow and jerked around to find him coming to rest against the bar. “What the hell, man? Did you follow us?”

“It’s a vampire club. Pretty sure I have more right to be here than you two.”

“Oh, right, you go to the club a lot then, Sid?”

A self-deprecating smile pulled at Sid’s mouth as he ordered a drink. “Rusty gave you up, like, immediately.”

“So you figured you’d just tag along?”

“To keep you safe.”

“Safe from what?”

Sid’s eyes flicked to Geno briefly. “The kind of vampire who will do what you want... They’re not good people, G.”

Geno frowned down at his drink.

“I’m sorry, but it’s true. People... Humans keep writing these books about how great it is to be bitten, but it’s not. It hurts. Those people who would do that... They wouldn’t care. Chances are, they’d just tear your throat out.”

“Jesus Christ, Sid,” Phil exclaimed.

“So that’s why I’m here.”

Geno’s frown wasn’t resolving. “I don’t need.”

“I think you do. I know what you think you’re looking for, but you’re not going to find it here. All you’re going to find here are monsters.”

“Like you?” Geno snarled. 

“Whoa, Geno,” Phil tried to interject, but Sid was already hunched in on himself looking off into the distance behind the bar. 

“I’m go dance,” Geno said irritably and pushed away from the bar. 

Sid didn’t say anything for a long time. Phil kept an eye out for Geno on the dancefloor and mostly kept him in sight while Sid sipped his drink and looked miserable. 

“He doesn’t think you’re a monster,” Phil tried after a while, when Sid turned around to lean back against the bar with him. “You know how Geno is. He’s an ass hole when he’s embarrassed.”

“He doesn’t look embarrassed,” Sid said, eyes following Geno across the dancefloor where he was swept up in the pull of a guy and a girl, dancing fluidly with both. Phil couldn’t really tell, but if he had to guess, he would place a bet that they were both vampires. Something about the way they moved, it seemed almost predatory. 

“Not about that. The vampire thing. I think he’s just embarrassed he hit on a teammate and got shot down.”

Sid’s jaw worked irritably. “Is that how he put it?”

“Yeah. I mean... Not in so many words. Is that not what happened?”

Sid scowled and threw back the remainder of his drink. He turned and gestured for another before he said, “He wanted me to fulfill his fetish. I’m not a sex toy.”

Phil looked out at Geno dancing with the vampire couple. The guy was leaning in from behind. He was tall, tall enough to trail his lips along Geno’s neck while the girl ground her hips against Geno’s. And somehow, even with all that going on, Geno looked checked out. He kept cutting glances back toward Phil and Sid, like he was doing this for their benefit instead of his own and wanted them to see. 

“Dude... Are you sure?”

“Sure?”

“About this whole vampire thing.”

Sid’s mouth curved ruefully. “It’s not a lifestyle I chose, Phil.”

“No, no. About Geno. I don’t know that he has a vampire fetish. ‘Cause he didn’t give a shit about being here. Until you showed up, and now he’s practically having a ménage a trois in the middle of the room. Do you think... Maybe he was just trying to impress you?”

“How would dancing impress me?”

“No, forget the dancing. Don’t you think it’s a little weird he only likes vampires when you’re around? I promise, if you take off, he’s going to come back over here and play Angry Birds all night.”

Sid watched Geno dance with a face full of doubt. Geno’s hands curled around the girl’s hips. The guy traced Geno’s neck with his lips, breathing against his skin. And Geno looked up, straight at Sid. His focus narrowed when he found Sid looking back. His expression morphed from bored to sultry. His eyes were hot and locked on Sid, and there was very little mistaking how he felt, even when he tore his gaze away.

Sid ducked his head with a disbelieving laugh. “Excuse me.” 

He put his drink down and was gone faster than Phil could blink. He appeared across the floor with a hand on the shoulder of the guy vampire, the one mouthing at Geno’s pulse. He said something, and the guy backed off with a respectful gesture, taking the girl with him. Geno started to turn an outraged look on Sid, but it broke apart when Sid reached for his hand. Then, Geno just looked surprised and perplexed. Sid leaned in and said something to him, something that made him slowly smile and nod. Then they were heading back toward Phil. 

“We can go,” Geno announced, tossing a couple of bills on the bar for their drinks. 

“Where are we going?”

“You can join the rest of the team, if you want,” Sid said unsubtly. 

“Uh huh, and where will you guys be heading?”

“Hotel,” Geno said, sounding smug and pleased and refreshingly normal. “Very tired, all sudden.”

Phil chuckled and shook his head. “I didn’t want to hang out with you losers anyways.”

They waited for their Ubers together by the curb, heading in different directions. Sid looked outwardly normal, not at all like he was crushing Phil with the weight of his desire. Geno was not acting normal. He was all over Sid, touching him with nervous energy before pulling away to look at a sign for a local concert, a concert they would not be in town to attend. When he returned, Sid ran a hand down his forearm and he settled against his side. 

Phil’s Uber arrived first, and he waved. “Have fun, kids. Be good.”

Geno smirked. Sid looked innocent while his emotions coiled like a spring. 

“You know I can feel that,” Phil said, chuckling. 

Sid cocked his head with a bemused smile. “Sorry.”

He wasn’t sorry. He was a lousy Canadian. Phil closed the door to the car, and the driver took off just as Geno nestled into Sid’s side and nuzzled into his neck. 

*************************

“Captain’s feeling good today,” Jake commented when Phil arrived downstairs for breakfast. 

“Why are you Sid’s keeper?”

“What?”

“You give the daily weather on the captain’s moods. What’s up with that?”

“Oh, well... I just figured, you know... You might like a warning.”

Phil looked at him, squinting. Jake squirmed. 

“I just thought you might need a heads up on bad days.”

“This isn’t a bad day.”

“Yeah, well... I don’t like always giving bad news.”

“And you give the weather report to me because...”

“I mean, you know,” Jake said, blotchy red tinging up his neck, brightening his ears, and starting to stain his cheeks. 

Phil thought he probably did know, or had suspected for a while. Sid’s moods affected everyone in the locker room, but him more than most. Sid’s moods could change his day, his ability to focus, even his physical health in ways it didn’t seem to do to most of the guys. 

“You’re...”

“American?” he offered, letting Jake off the hook on having to define whatever he thought Phil was. 

Jake laughed and ducked his head. “Sure. We gotta look out for each other, right?”

“Sure thing, bud,” Phil said, and he clapped Jake on the shoulder before he took his coffee cup over to join the lovebirds at a table. 

Geno looked energetic and pleased. Phil couldn’t help but look for any marks on his neck, but he didn’t see any. He certainly wasn’t acting blood deprived, laughing with Tanger over his pancakes, his eyes all crinkled up at the edges. 

Sid was watching Phil back when he looked. His eyes were dark and his eyebrows arched, challenging. The air crackled with annoyed energy. 

“Oh calm down,” Phil said as he sat. “I don’t think you did anything.”

The annoyance zapped and went out like a dying lightbulb. Sid smiled ruefully and sipped out of his mug, something thick as cocoa that left a red tinge on his bottom lip, which he licked away. 

“So... How was your night?” Phil asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I’ll tell you how their night was,” Tanger grumbled with a roll of his eyes. “I’m never rooming beside Geno again. 

Geno smiled broadly without an ounce of embarrassment. Sid didn’t look ashamed either, though he shrugged and said, “Sorry, we thought you were out.”

“You didn’t even think about it,” Tanger accused, but he looked like he was hiding a grin under his annoyance. 

Sid seemed about to protest, but it broke apart into a huge smile. “No, not really.” He dodged a thrown grape, though he had the reflexes to catch it. The next one fell short and landed in his mug. Drops of red flew out of the mug and went everywhere, splattering Sid’s hand and the table. 

Geno looked over just as Sid licked the back of his hand to clear it off and made a face. “Gross.”

Sid coughed a laugh. “Wow. Thanks.”

“Not you. Just,” Geno waved a hand at the cup. “Blood.”

“You really don’t have a vampire fetish, huh?” Phil laughed with a shake of his head. 

“I tell you. Don’t like vampire. Just Sid.”

“Aww,” Phil replied, only managing half-hearted sarcasm while being blanketed in the warm, cottony feel of Sid’s affection.


End file.
